Cold
by lozielou
Summary: Butters is feeling cold and alone. He has few friends and he still can't feel anything for his girlfriend. Then one evening, he meets Kenny who seems to understand him more than anyone else does. But is Kenny who he seems? Will Butters be driven into the cold... forever? (Before you read I must stress that Butters will be out of character so if you don't like that don't read.)
1. Chapter 1

**AN- Hello, just before I get started with the story, Butter's may appear to be out of character. I have done this because he is older in this story and (as some episodes have shown) he can get angry over things that don't really matter. I have just taken this further.**

Chapter 1

"Dad where are you?"

"I'm up here Butters. Up here on the roof."

Butters zipped his jacket up to the collar and trudged round the corner of the house, his boots crunching on the ice-hard snow.

"Up here, Butters."

"I see you," Butters called, shielding his eyes with one mittened hand as he peered up at his dad on the snow-covered roof. Long, pointed icicles hung in a row from the gutter, dripping onto the snow below.

"Hold the ladder for me, will you? I patched up the leak. Now I'm coming down," his dad said, his face red from the cold. On his hands and knees, in his ancient coat.

Butters slipped, lost his footing, and fell onto his knees.

"Hurry up,will you?" he snapped, impatient as always.

"I'm coming. I'm coming," Butters muttered, picking herself up slowly, brushing the snow off the knees of his jeans.

"I'm freezing to death up here," Mr. Stotch complained. "Why are you always in slow motion?"

Butters gripped the sides of the aluminium ladder. A strong gust of wind nearly blew him and the ladder over. He leaned forward against the wind, repositioning himslef for a better grip.

"Hold it steady!" Mr. Stotch screamed. "I told you- I'm freezing to death!"

"What a good idea," Butters said, watching his dad on his hands and knees, struggling to back over the snow-filled gutter onto the ladder.

"What did you say?"

Butters didn't reply. He wrapped his mittened hands tightly around the sides of the metal ladder.

"I heard that," his dad shouted. Only his boots and the back of his coat were visible to him. "You will be grounded for that remark, Butters."

"I wasn't a remark. I meant it," Butters said, peering up at him into the silver afternoon sunlight.

As he cautiously lowered one boot onto the top rung of the ladder, he pulled with all his strength.

The ladder tilted away from the house. Butters let go and moved quickly out of the way. The ladder fell onto the snow with a loud crunch.

"Hey!"

His dad scrambled back up onto the roof, his black-gloved hands scrambling frantically over the snow-covered shingles.

"Hey! Are you crazy?" he screamed, sitting down on the snow, turning to face him, his face red with fury. He swore at him and called him his usual string of ugly names. "Put that laddr back up!"

"'Bye dad," Butters called calmly. He gave him a little wave with his red-mittened hand and started to walk down the driveway to the street.

"Get back here! Where are you going?"

He kept walking. He didn't look back.

"Put that ladder back- now!" Another string of abusive names.

You ahve such a foul mouth dad, Butters thought, turning right at the street and heading up the hill. Maybe you'll freeze with your mouth wie open, I'd like to see that.

"I'll freeze to death up here!" he shouted, his voice muffled now by the snow ladden trees.

"That's the idea!" Butters called without turning back.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN- You'll probably now see what I mean with Butter's being out of character. And Sally is Sally Darson from the episode 'Butters bottom bitch'. (I think it's called, I'm not t=entirely sure). Oh, before I get started I just have to say that I'll soon be getting my mock exam results, so which me luck!**

 **angeliesrrn- I know, he often gets the short end of the stick doesn't he?**

Chapter 1

No, no that's all wrong, Butters thought.

That's not good enough. Much too slow.

He closed his eyes and pictured his dad up on the snow covered roof again. "Butters, hold the ladder," he called. "I'm coming down now."

"I've got it," he shouted up to him, gripping the ladder on both sides. The metal felt cold right through his mittens. He adjusted his feet. The snow was deep and hard. A layer of ice had formed a crust over the surface.

"Hold it steady," Mr. Stotch ordered, placing one boot, then the other on the top rung.

Butters waited until he had descended a little, his boots on the third rung, bony hands gripping the top rung above his head.

Then he pulled with all his strength.

Yes!

The ladder swung quickly away from the house.

Butters let go and stepped back to watch.

"Hey-!"

Mr. Stotch's eyes opened wide with fright and surprise.

The ladder was standing straight now, supported by nothing, about to come crashing down onto the snow.

Butters enjoyed the terrified look on his face, the way he gripped the rung so tightly, even though the ladder was about to carry him down to his death.

And then the ladder toppled over onto the snow.

The loud crunch, the sound of an egg cracking- that was Mr. Stotch.

What a nasty fall, Butters thought. His laughter echoed off the heavy, wide trees.

* * *

"What are you thinking about, Butters?" Sally asked pulling away from him.

He could feel the taste of her lips on his. "Oh. Sorry," he said, his fantasy still playing in his mind.

He shook his head as if trying to shake away his thoughts. Okay. Now I'm back, he thought. I'm sitting in the front of Sally's car. And I was kissing him.

"You seemed a million miles away," Sally said, removing her arm from around his shoulder. She raked her hand back through her blonde hair, staring at Butters questioningly. "You were thinking about dinner, right? You were fantasising that I was a giant roast beef."

"Yuck," Butters said, giving her a playful shove. Sally could always make him laugh. "Nope you were a turkey."

"Hey, that's what everyone calls me!" she joked.

His expression turned solemn. "No, I was thinking about my dad."

"Should I be concerned?" Sally said, gripping the steering wheel, rolling her eyes, acting creeped out. "You're kissing me and you're think about your dad!"

"Don't be disgusting," Butters said quickly, making a face. He turned and stared out the fogged-up window at his snow-covered front garden. "I was thinking of different ways to kill him."

"Oh, well. That's healthy," Sally said sarcastically.

She leaned towards him, put her hands gently on the sides of his face, and turned his head back to her. "Kiss me again and maybe you can think up some ways to kill your mum too."

Butters reached up and pulled her hands away. They were so warm and he was so cold. Cold all over.

"Mum is okay," he said quietly, staring straight ahead. "Well, better than dad at least."

Sally didn't reply. She took his cold hands between his and squeezed them tenderly, trying to warm them up.

Butters suddenly felt guilty. Why had he let his mind wander to his dad when he was kissing Sally?

Impulsively, he grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to him, pressing her lips against his.

Without you, I'd be so lonely, he thought.

Without you, I'd be so sad.

And yet his mind wandered when she kissed him...

No. It's just my bad mood, he decided.

It's just that I hate my dad so much it's ruining my feelings for everyone else.

Still holding the back of Sally's neck, he kissed her.

"Oh!"

The loud noise right by his head startled him. He jumped back in his seat, heart pounding.

It took him a while to realise what was happening.

Someone was standing outside the car, hitting the passenger window.

Dad!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Dad!"

He was tapping hard on the glass with the wooden handle of the snow shovel.

Through the fogged window, Butters could see that his face was red with anger, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.

"Hey, what's his problem?" Sally asked, letting go of Butters and edging back to her side of the car.

"Leave us alone!" Butters started to scream. But before he could get the words out, his dad pulled open the car door, and he nearly toppled out into the snow.

"Hey, let go!"

Mr. Stotch grabbed the elbow of his jacket and tugged. "I've been calling you for twenty minutes. I know you heard me!"

"No, we couldn't..." Sally started.

But Butters knew better than to resist when his dad was angry. He allowed him to pull him form the car, then jerked his arm away and stood facing him, determined not to cry or be upset.

"What do you want, dad?" he asked coldly.

"Don't you care what the neighbours think?" he asked, his voice high, excited, his face still red.

He's so ridiculous looking, Butters thought.

He didn't answer him, just stared at him, aiming all of his hatred towards him, wanting him to wither away and disappear, to melt under the heat of his strong feelings.

"Well, even if you don't care what the neighbours think, I do!" he said, angrily tossing the snow shovel halfway across the garden. "Parked here like a tramp in broad daylight..."

"We weren't doing anything," Butters said.

"Mr. Stotch, I'm really sorry if..." Sally called, leaning across the passenger seat, sticking her head through the open doorway.

"It's time for you to go to work," Mr. Stotch said, ignoring Sally, simply acting as if she were invisible. "If you go now, maybe you'll get to your job on time for once."

"I'm never late for my job," he muttered.

His job. Waiter at the coffee shop in the mall. It was such a boring terrible job. And it took up so much of his time and made it so hard to keep up with his schoolwork.

And why did he have a job? His parents had enough money, but his dad wouldn't let him touch it.

Mr. Stotch believed in hard work.

It was teaching him to be responsible.

He was teaching him to have self-discipline.

What a joke.

"Butters, I'll call you later," Sally said. She had climbed out of the car and was walking round the passenger side to close the door.

"I'll be at the mall until nine," Butters sighed. Jamming his hands into his jeans pockets, he turned and followed his dad, who was already crunching over the snow to the house.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, he thought.

As if reading his mind, his dad turned suddenly. He saw that he had ab odd smile on his face. The lowering afternoon sun seemed to make his face glow a bright yellow.

He's not looking at me. He's looking past me.

He's watching Sally back down the drive, Butters realised. He's smiling because he's celebrating a victory.

He's so happy because he interrupted us. And he totally embarrassed me.

He gripped the pocket lighter that somehow made it's way into his pocket, and he still hadn't got round to taking it out.

"I hate you!"

Mr. Stotch spun around, his features pulled tight in anger.

"Oh." Butters hadn't meant to scream it aloud.

It had just slipped out.

"You're a very disturbed young man," his dad said. Clenching his hands, staring back at him. "Very disturbed," he repeated. "You need help young man, you really do."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The coffee shop was long and narrow and located between two shoe stores. A long, white counter ran the length of the cafe with thirty red stools lined up along it.

Butters knew how many stools there were. He had counted them many times when the cafe was nearly empty and he was bored.

Eight red booths with tables, each booth wide enough to sit six people, ran along the wall across from the counter. A boy called Tweek, who really couldn't handle the job, was waiter for the counter. The booths were Butter's responsibility.

"Hi, how's it going?" Butters said to Mr. Tweak, the co-owner. He looked at his watch in reply.

Okay, okay. I'm ten minutes late. Big deal, Butter's thought.

He hated the way Mr. Tweak looked at his watch every time he arrived. He also hated the customers who were always in a hurry, who were always unhappy when the coffee wasn't good.

Why do they come here if they want good coffee? Butters wondered.

But mainly he hated the fact that this job took up so much of his time, kept him from studying, from seeing friends, from seeing Sally.

And it was so unnecessary.

"Hi, Butters."

Butters immediately recognised the voice. He was surprised to see his friend Stan at the counter.

"Stan, hi!" Butters cried, happy to see him. He looked behind the counter to see if Mr. Tweak was watching. He wasn't'. He was back by the dishwasher. "How'd you know I was here?"

"I called your house," Stan said. "Your dad must've been in a bad mood or something."

"So what else is new?" Butters muttered. "What did he say to you?"

"He started yelling at me about how I shouldn't call to disturb him when you weren't home. But how am I supposed to know if you are home if I can't call?"

"He's angry at me," Butters said, then quickly added. "for a change. He caught Sally and me kissing in the driveway."

"Kissing? He gets angry about kissing? What would he do if he caught you really making out? Have a heart attack?"

"I wish," Butters said glumly. he looked again to make sure Mr. Tweak wasn't watching. He didn't like it when he talked to his friends, even when they weren't busy. "I wish I could quit this stupid job," Butters sighed.

"Well why don't you? You don't need the money, do you?" Stan asked.

"No. I don't. I have money."

"So quit. Go ahead. Quit right now. Then you can come over to my house."

"I can't" Butters said, straightening the napkins. "My stupid dad won't let me spend the money."

"What do you mean? It's yours isn't it?"

"Dad says I have to save it."

"Save it for what?"

"He won't say. Just save it. Oh, I hate him so much!" Butters said, then lowered his voice because Tweek was staring at him. "He won't let me spend it on clothes, or lunches, or school, or anything. So I have to work."

"You told me you have a trust fund, right?" Stan was struggling to understand Mr. Stotch's reasoning. "With enough to pay for college?"

"More than enough. I'm loaded," Butters said. "But I can't touch any of my money. Dad is in charge of it until I'm eighteen. And he wants me to work to build my character."

"What a creep," Stan said, shaking his head.

"He's worse than a creep," Butters continued. "I think he's spending some of my money. He bought a new computer last week. I saw the receipt. He paid cash for it. He doesn't have that kind of money."

"Can you prove he's taking your money?" Stan asked in a loud whisper. "If you can..."

"I can't Butters said." "I don't even know where he keeps the bank records. There's no way Ivan prove anything. I just have a hunch."

"Well you should..." Stan started.

"Hey! Ach! Customers! Ach!" Tweek was panicking.

Butters turned to two booths. Two elderly women were easing themselves into a booth. One of them was struggling to prop her cane at the side of the booth.

"Later," Stan said, heading towards the door.

Butters went off to help the two women. He was nearly to their booth when a hand reached out and grabbed his arm.


End file.
